


Unrealistic

by Unpretty



Series: Sorrowful and Immaculate Hearts [27]
Category: DCU
Genre: Bondage, F/F, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Multi, Rope Bondage, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpretty/pseuds/Unpretty
Summary: What do Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman think about when they're trying to get off? A serious question seeking serious answers.





	1. Chapter 1

Diana considered the vibrator that Etta had gifted her with a vague suspicion. It just seemed so _crude_. No finesse to it at all. She watched it buzz in her hand as it cycled through settings. What function did it serve to have it turn on and off apparently at random? For whom was that setting ideal?

She'd try it despite her misgivings, as a courtesy, but she had _doubts_.

Would she think of lovers past? Some fictional amalgamation thereof? Someone entirely fictional, maybe—there'd been that lovely book with the fanged woman.

But vampires recalled bats recalled—

She shut her eyes. Bruce. He'd be wearing—what would he be wearing? That thing from the ballet Steve had taken her to. Swan Lake, there was a young man in it. All shining and ruffled and very tight fitted and still mostly black.

Yes. That thing. He'd be wearing _that_. With that scruff he got sometimes, and maybe a bit of eyeliner. It wouldn't kill him to wear a little makeup sometimes. It would bring out his eyes.

He'd pull her close, and cup her face in his hands, callouses rough against her skin. He'd say: _Hello, Princess_. And then he would say: _What in God's name am I wearing right now?_

Which was a fine thing to say for an atheist who spent half his time dressed like a bat.

And he would say: _No sane deity would allow this outfit to happen, but I'm still allowed to use idioms._

Except that he wouldn't say that, because it was her fantasy and that meant he'd keep his mouth shut and look pretty.

And he would say: _I think you have me confused with someone else_.

This wasn't working. Obviously, brute force was required. She switched the vibrator on.

Oh. Yes. That would help. A bit much, actually. Nonetheless: helpful.

Skip ahead, past the chit-chat, to the part where he'd be too busy to be a smartass. When he'd say: _I have never in my life been that busy._ Except he wouldn't, because shutting up and pretty and so on. 

Logistically, her powers might make things difficult. Rope games were fun for their own sake, besides. He'd have her tied up, then; maybe his clothes would be a little mussed. Just a little.

He'd stand over her, rope in his hands and her at his mercy, and he'd say: _Why would I ever do this?_

For lots of reasons. Maybe there was a supervillain involved. Poison Ivy? She wasn't clear if Poison Ivy actually had sex powers, or if that was just a convenient excuse people used. Regardless, it was a perfectly reasonable thing to have happen in a fantasy with no obligation to adhere to reality.

He'd lean down to bring his face close to hers, and he'd say: _I object to this on ethical grounds._

Fine. Not a supervillain. Definitely no impaired decision-making. Totally sober and consensual.

His fingers hooked in a length of rope around her neck, pulling her close, his mouth nearly against hers to murmur: _Why do I look like we've been fighting?_

Sparring. Sparring as part of a totally consensual, no, this wasn't going to work, she just kept imagining that _look_ on his face that meant he simply wasn't in the mood for this sort of nonsense when there was work to be done. She shut the vibrator off again as she reconsidered her plan of attack.

Bruce had lovers. Bruce had _plenty_ of lovers. Attractive ones, too. Why not have both? A beautiful woman, and a handsome man, with one to keep the other in check.

Selina Kyle. Gorgeous woman. She had those _eyes_ , didn't she, and that _whip_. Good kisser, fangs and all. Put her in something pretty and diaphanous like they wore at home. Let her keep the whip. Even kneeling, Diana would be almost as tall as she was.

It was possible that Diana was exaggerating the size difference for effect. Selina was, mercifully, much more amenable to that kind of thing.

She'd look down at Diana and say: _Hello, Diana. Would you like to beg, or would you like me to make you?_

Normally she'd have had it the other way around. But there was Bruce to consider, after all. Bruce would be...

Bruce would be sitting on the couch, trying to read a book about prison reform.


	2. Chapter 2

Clark Kent woke up with an erection. Which was not, in the grand scheme of things, particularly interesting or unusual. He checked the time on his clock: four thirty-six in the morning.

He'd been dreaming about... he didn't remember what he'd been dreaming about. Only that it had left him feeling hot, and wishing for Lois. Not that it did him any good. They'd broken up. Sort of. They broke up and then they stopped being broken up and then they broke up again...

He had a recurring fantasy of telling her the truth. She'd tell him it was all okay and stop dumping him all the time and then... sex. 

It was not the most detailed fantasy, as far as preliminaries went. 

He shut his eyes and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Tried to imagine a hypothetical moment in a hypothetical future. 

> _Lois is wearing one of her suits, the ones she likes to wear to work. The purple one that suits her eyes so well. With heels. No. Boots. Those tall boots—no. A different outfit entirely, one of those riding outfits. The very well-fitted kind. They're out for a picnic on a beautiful day, sunlight on his skin and bringing out the red undertones in her hair._
> 
> _He's sitting back on a quilt in the grass, and she's straddling him. She has a riding crop. She wouldn't hit him with it, she'd never do that. She just... has it. She's kissing him, perfectly vivid in the details. The way her lips feel against his, and the way her heart sounds in her chest. The way her hands feel on his cock, he has a perfect memory of that._

He shouldn't have let her do that, but he had and he didn't regret it. For all he knew, it was as good as he was going to get.

> _"You like that?" Lois asks in that teasing voice of hers, that specific sweet way she has of speaking when she's touching him like this._
> 
> _Her jacket and her shirt are open. It's not clear when that happened. Her breasts are perfect, like always._
> 
> _"God, yes," he says. He isn't wearing glasses. He's wearing a t-shirt, and jeans that fit right, and he doesn't have to worry that she'll notice what he looks like when he's not wearing five layers. "You're beautiful," he tells her._
> 
> _"I know," she says with a smile._
> 
> _"I love you," he says, and he's inside her and it isn't quite clear when that happened or how. He usually tries not to tear clothes, but this way she's still wearing those pants and those boots._
> 
> _"I love you," she says, rolling her hips and gripping him tight. He can't imagine anything more perfect, a day out in the sun and the smell of clover in the air._

He was drawing on memories of Kansas, sunny days and horseback rides. That wasn't Lois, though. He didn't know if Lois could even ride a horse.

> _Lana is brushing her favorite pony, Tabanus. The red of her hair practically glows._

That was a memory, that wasn't this.

> _"Clark, why am I here?" Lana asks, one raised eyebrow. She looks the way she did the last time he saw her, but she's wearing the outfit he liked best in high school. The tattered jeans and the studded belt and the band shirt and the oversized hoodie._
> 
> _"Why_ is _she here?" Lois asks. She's tapping the riding crop against her palm._
> 
> _"That was an accident, sorry," he says._
> 
> _"Don't bring me into your sexual fantasies," Lana says, making a face._
> 
> _"I'm not trying to!" Clark insists._
> 
> _"I'm_ gay _."_
> 
> _"I know! I know, I'm sorry!"_
> 
> _"If you're going to bring other people into this," Lois says, "it should at least be someone who'd be willing to fuck both of us."_
> 
> _"Hey," says Bruce from where he's sitting on the quilt._

Clark opened his eyes. His imagination was getting away from him, clearly. It happened, sometimes. He was tired and a little bit depressed, that was all. Hard to focus in that state of mind. He just needed to take a minute to breathe, reset. How long had it been?

He checked the time. Four thirty-seven. He'd been speeding again. That was the problem. Thinking too fast, getting ahead of himself. He took a deep breath, deep enough to hit that spot where he could exhale and watch frost blossom on his bedroom window.

He shut his eyes again.

> _Lois is in his lap, her clothes in disarray._
> 
> _"Just you," he tells her. "You're all I need."_
> 
> _"I know," she says, smiling._
> 
> _"I'm still here, though," Bruce says. He's leaning on the horse._
> 
> _"Go away," Clark snaps._
> 
> _"Don't get snippy at us," Lana says. "It's not our fault we're here."_
> 
> _"I'm not blaming you," he says to Lana, and only Lana._
> 
> _"What I want to know," Bruce says, "is why I'm the only one not wearing clothes."_
> 
> _Bruce is completely naked. He has a lot of scars that Clark knows for a fact that he has, and also a lot of scars that Clark is only assuming he would have._
> 
> _"That_ is _weird, I'm completely dressed," Lana says._
> 
> _"You're gay!" Clark reminds her._
> 
> _"We're mostly dressed, too," Lois points out. She's still in his lap, still grinding her hips against his cock._
> 
> _Lois is in nothing but a lacy black corset and bright red lipstick. She's gasping and moaning with her fingers in her hair, aggressively riding him._
> 
> _"I'm still more naked than she is," Bruce says. "Your subconscious is making a lot of assumptions about my manscaping habits."_
> 
> _Clark ignores him. He focuses on Lois' lips and the spread of her thighs. He focuses on the sound of her heart, and the things that she's wearing keep changing. Lingerie, dress shirts, ballgowns._
> 
> _Lois isn't in his lap anymore. She's in an expensive hotel suite, in Bruce's arms. He's holding her pressed against him, and she's tilting her head back so he can kiss a line down her throat. Clark can hear their hearts beating._
> 
> _Lois is on red sheets, her knees up near her shoulders. Bruce is pounding into her, and he never has to worry that he might hurt her._
> 
> _"Is this really what you're into?" Lana asks. She's sitting on the branch of an apple tree, trying to tempt her horse. "That's messed, dude."_
> 
> _"I'm not," he insists, but his cock is hard in his hand. Lois is still gasping for air and crying out, sometimes it's Clark on top of her but sometimes it isn't._
> 
> _Lana is kissing Lois' breasts and their legs are all tangled together._
> 
> _"I don't know why you're thinking about this like it would have anything to do with you," Lana says, tangling her fingers in Lois' hair._
> 
> _"Sorry," Clark says._
> 
> _Bruce takes a bite of an apple, a noisy crack of teeth. "You know," Bruce says, his mouth still full. "You should probably figure out why I make you so uncomfortable." Bruce is standing too close and he's wearing a suit worth more than everything Clark has ever owned._
> 
> _Lois is beneath him and Lois is on top of him and Lois' heart is pounding too fast. Lois is calling his name and he's never wanted anything the way he wants the way she feels in that moment. Like a song ringing through her that he can almost hear, if he tries._

Clark opened his eyes and sighed. He checked the clock. Four thirty-nine.

He needed to take a shower. Ten showers.

He still didn't remember what he'd been dreaming about, but he was almost sure it wasn't that. _Any_ of that.

Why couldn't anything ever just be _easy_?


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce stood in his shower and let water hit everything but his face. He was staring at a tile in the ceiling. It was slightly lighter than the rest. It was a replacement for a cracked tile. He'd talked himself out of having the shower completely redone. He regretted it often. He stared at the one wrong tile every time he took a shower. He debated getting it fixed. It gave him something to look at. 

The wall panels were all set to 40°C. He set it higher when he had company. He'd have preferred it colder, but that felt less hygienic. 

He had a headache. That wasn't unusual. Probably stress. 

He thought about company. He thought about Eileen, the last time he'd taken a shower with someone. He'd bent her over and fucked her against the glass. She'd seemed to like it well enough. Eileen was short, so he'd spent most of his effort trying to keep them upright.

Didn't like her in quite the right way. Nice enough. Not her fault. 

People he liked. Things he liked. Red lipstick. Soft sweaters. Biceps. Full mouths. Long hair. Freckles. Beauty marks. Sometimes glasses. Sticky lip gloss. White cotton. Slender heels or heavy boots. Well-tailored evening wear after it had been rumpled. That stray curl that escaped an updo during a long party. That bit of plump softness above the edge of a stocking or a skirt that was a little too tight. 

Bailey Taylor: 5'4", blonde, freckles, slight buckteeth. Nuclear physicist. Liked it when he called her Doctor. On her knees with her mouth on his cock, that muffled sound people sometimes made.

He liked that sound. He _really_ liked that sound. 

Diana of Themyscira: 5'10", inky black curls, perfect skin. Round hips, rounder breasts. Thighs that could crush his skull. Liked high heels and leather armor. _Tie me up,_ she said, and she'd be powerless. Thighs could still probably crush his skull. 

Diana on her knees with rope around her arms, a ladder of rope up her back. His cock in her mouth and that muffled sound escaping around it. Pressing against the back of her throat. 

_Do you think I'm impressed?_ she said in his ear, breasts pressed against his back, watching his fantasy. 

Not really. 

_You're like a child to me,_ she said. 

That was fine. 

Tied up in his bedroom, rope around her limbs, a harness around her chest. A vibrator between her legs, held there with more rope. Diana struggling to no avail.

_You'd hardly be the first,_ she said. 

That was fine. 

Selina Kyle: 5'3", black hair, gold eyes. Fangs. Liked tacky t-shirts too big for her. Carried a whip. Soft and lithe and no words for her that didn't make him a creepy asshole. In his bed on her hands and knees, sharp teeth grazing his skin. Diana's hands in Selina's hair, guiding her down.

_Bruce,_ Selina begged, breathless pleading. 

Diana holding Selina down and Bruce pinning them both beneath him. Both of them tied together and when one tried to move the other would feel it. 

_I don't see why we'd need you at all,_ Diana said. 

It didn't matter. 

Vicki Vale: 5'6", red hair, glasses. Liked sundresses, when she wasn't working. Legs long for her figure. Married to her work. Bruce on his knees and he wasn't quite self aware enough to know if he made that sound with her cock in his mouth. Liked to call him Mr. Wayne, _Mr. Wayne_ as she came and as he bent her over his desk.

Vicki fucking Selina, Selina's face between Diana's thighs. 

_Honestly, Mr. Wayne, this is just excessive._

He usually was. 

Clark Kent: 6'3", blue-black hair, blue eyes, glasses. Sometimes his eyes glowed. Sometimes they set things on fire. Questionably heterosexual. Occasional girlfriend Lois Lane (5'7", red-black, screamer).

_Don't pick on him,_ Diana scolded.

_I don't think I'm comfortable with this,_ Clark said. 

It was fine.

Clark with his cock out and the way his hips rolled and the shape of his hipbones. Blushing while Lois licked the whole length of him. Clark on his knees at Bruce's feet.

_I have no idea what I'm doing,_ Clark said.

He'd figure it out. 

Diana on top of him, riding him, wrists chained loose to a collar and he wanted to tell himself he was only thinking about it out of practical necessity.

_You can't lie to me,_ Diana reminded him.

That was fine. 

Her breasts in his hands and in his mouth, Diana tied to his headboard and pulling against it as he ate her out. Shaking and sweating and arching her back and begging him, _Bruce please_. 

Selina in his bed, a t-shirt and bedhead and he'd roll on top of her and wake her up screaming his name. Fill her up so full of him there'd be no room for anyone else and maybe if he asked she'd stay. 

Clark on his desk and he must have been able to have sex like anyone else but probably safer to taste him than to try fucking him but he imagined both anyway. Gripping his desk and cracking wood and taking it and would he rather be called Clark, or Kal? 

Diana in the garden with flowers in her hair, on her knees and stroking him through his suit and begging him, _please may I?_ Selina and Diana in wildflowers, begging, _please Bruce will you fuck us?_ White dresses and Diana in roses and Selina in lilies and Selina in Diana's lap chaining daisies, _please Bruce I promise I'll be good if you just fuck me_. 

He braced an arm against the wall and shuddered as he came. Done, but he still imagined someone's face painted white. He couldn't decide who, so it was everyone. 

Rude of him, regardless. Should probably have more fantasies involving condoms. Safety reasons. Set a good precedent. His headache felt better. Could have been placebo effect. He tilted his head back to look at the paler tile. 

He should really just renovate the whole bathroom. 


	4. Chapter 4

Batman was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Wonder Woman walked into the Watchtower kitchen.

"Hello, Batman," she said, mild and cordial.

"Hello, Princess." He set the mug he'd just poured in front of her. He'd need to start another pot if he wanted a cup for himself. It seemed like the polite thing to do. She frowned. She didn't want to put him to trouble. It took more than royalty to stop him from going to trouble. He broke the seal on a new tin of grounds. It was terrible coffee. He wasn't picky. She accepted the mug with her hands wrapped around it. Long fingers, short nails. She'd painted them gold.

The silence felt more awkward than usual. She was still standing close. Wanted to say something. Trying to gauge his mood first. Shouldn't have mattered.

"Heard anything from Catwoman lately?" she asked.

Not a question he'd expected. Strange topic for small talk. A lead on a case? "No. Why."

"Just curious," she said with a small shrug. Took a sip timed to avoid saying more. Didn't want him to ask after it. Had they been talking? Couldn't put it past either of them. Knew better than to try surprising him. He hoped. The last time those two had met—derail that train of thought. Not the time.

"May I ask you a question?" she asked. She already had. Only an insufferable pedant would point that out. He wouldn't be an insufferable pedant. Out loud.

"I might not answer," he warned.

"Hmm." She drummed her fingers on her mug. Coffee dripped into the carafe in silence. "What kinds of things do you think about when you want to orgasm?" she asked finally.

He froze.

Derail. Derail derail derail. Famous historical rail accidents. Baseball. Football. The etymology of the word soccer in American English. The comparative properties of Bermuda Grass versus Kentucky Bluegrass for athletic purposes.

Diana on her knees, her cheek against his thigh, ribbons around her wrists but not enough to stop her touching him, _Bruce_ , she sighs and she's looking up at him through her lashes, _who do you think you're fooling?_

"Generally, I mean," Wonder Woman added. "Obviously I wouldn't ask for specifics. I could just use a bit of inspiration, is all. On Themyscira I would usually just—"

"I'm leaving now."

She blinked. "Did something come up?"

"I'm not answering that."

She watched him go with a frown, realization striking just a moment too late. She stuck her head out into the hall to call after him. "I wasn't trying to ask about your penis!"

The red streak of color that might have passed through the hall unnoticed came to a stop. The Flash looked stricken. He looked from Wonder Woman to Batman's retreating figure, and then back again.

"He's not going to make us watch that video on sexual harassment in the workplace again, is he?" Flash asked.

Wonder Woman spread her palms in a helpless shrug.


End file.
